
Originally Posted by
Lay Doubt.
”You blew up when battles had DJs, but can’t rap to a beat
That’s like a professional breakdancer that can’t move his feet
Ugly dude with freestyles, they’re like, “That dude is heat”
But this was a written battle filmed in HD, which is bad news for Pete
And my lines’ll be the only lines they quote from it
So this won’t be a battle where the fans can say we both stunted
I roll something, pass it to your girl, now she’s so blunted
She gon give me a little face like the old hundreds
Red, white, and green diamonds like Italian ice
Shorty’s so wet on the phone, she need a bag of rice
You ain’t been popping for a while like a can of Slice
Seasoned fans took me so they booked me for the added spice
Now I ain’t even want to use this bar for Pete
But he lives in the desert, so he should be used to all this heat;
So from Cancun to a sand dune, I roll up on dude and park the jeep
Ready to dump the cans at his buggy like it’s Supermarket Sweep
I could wake his block up, or let the tech ring silent
Baby boy, I’m pro-choice, but fuck your left-wing bias
Now 'that was a tec' that was a check swing. But this next thing’s violent
I’m bout to open up on him like a X-Wing pilot
My connect always good: I got extra bandwidth
And a second plan for anything the weapons can’t fix
I got money changing hands like Megaman’s fist
The watch got a second hand; you got a secondhand wrist
He 'bout to face another blemish: this the worst you get sweeped
Ashes get swept under the rug like it hurts to give grief
Supersoaker backpack, squirt the kid brief
Plus, they love me in the hood like the First and Fifteenth
I be at the same health club where his chick belong
She catching pheromones from me at the Liftathon
Yoga mat down, let her suck me like a twisty straw
While she whip her hair back and forth like Dixie Kong
I’ll take her to the second gym like Misty gone
And make a movie that star me, that’s not Digimon
No a cappella group, but he gon' know what kinda shit we on
When he hear that oo-wop going just like a '50s song
No GPS tracking, but I’m getting Pete traced
They’ll have to set up a perimeter, and get police tape
That mean I’ll chalk this boy out. He want to get a clean slate;
I’ll cook him a couple minutes at a time like a Kid Cuisine plate
I’ll go into black ops mode; now I’m in his team base
He will not see zombies, but I’ll get his team chased
Warhammer, forty k’s without the figurine paint
He get ratchet after ratchet like he did a speed date
Lieutenant Worf nine, put him into deep space
And pitch a bird out the whip like they did in Speed Race
18 karats on the wrist, with the wintergreen face
And just looking at it giving you that Listerine taste
For trying to get a buzz off my shit, get you smacked with a flyswatter
I stay splashing his bitch like she rafting through whitewater
Back in school, I had the tool in the back of my guy’s locker
County jail, a young boy got put in a pod like Anakin Skywalker
He don’t need breaking news to see action from live choppers
For me it was always on sight; even scrapped with my eye doctor
His bitch on my album cover
Alex Summers from all the Havoc that I’ve caused her
But I’ve been through that bitch’s walls so many times
That I’m actually Nightcrawler
I’m pissed off at people even thinking the match was even
I mean I should Rerun my rounds cause this is a classic beating
I’m like Popeye the sailor: I’m gripping a can and squeezing
Talking out the side of your mouth gon' get you the Bambi treatment
I brought the Thumper in the club. Now it’s switching to rabbit season:
If he Bugs, I’ll get him smoked like Yosemite Sam was creeping
Morris’ll catch a flashback like he’s sitting in class and dreaming
While I’m at his bae side, high, like Tiffani-Amber Thiessen
Mario Lopez is in the building: this is your chance to meet him
The silencer is Andy Griffin how it’s whistling back to greet him
This is Aladdin dreaming, I’m wishing we had a reason
I just had to get a couple bands off him before giving him back his freedom”